The Trials of a Troubled Youth
by Evil Laugher
Summary: The result of a brainstorming chat for a contest entry, I'd prefer the genre to be gothic melodrama, but you should know what you're getting yourself into. Just go with the flow chik chik
1. The Debauchery of a Young Man

This fanfic was written for a contest in a certain Livejournal "Harry Potter" community, divided by Houses. This is the submission from the Hufflepuffs. It was created based on some plot ideas brainstormed in a chat room, and besides myself, (evillaugher), the following people are responsible:

lovestruck143

kissmeimahobbit

lilmissjew

Another LJ user outside of the community contributed an idea, but I think she's better off not stepping forward to take responsibility for that one...

**Harry Potter and the Trials of a Troubled Youth**

The summer of 1996 in the Wizarding world was the anticlimax of the century. Harry Potter, frustrated with his imprisonment in the household at Number 4 Privet Drive, ran away against the counsel of Headmaster Dumbledore. Naturally he encountered the reasoning behind this advice when Lord Voldemort immediately caught up with the scruffy teenager in a suburban street outside of Little Whinging. History books will forever record how, before he even lifted his wand, the Dark Lord was smote down by an incoming six-wheeler truck that he did not notice approaching. Death was instantaneous.

Meanwhile, the Boy Who Lived was put in a prickly situation. His lifelong nemesis was gone and his constant threat of death was removed, sure. But now what? All of the excitement was taken out of his life, and his entire purpose and grand finale that the past five years had been building up to were now suddenly... diminished. His meaning in life, to vanquish Lord Voldemort and be the hero of Gryffindor, was gone.

As much as he disliked it at times, Harry craved the attention he received in the Wizarding world. It was his opiate. Maybe this was why he did what he did next, because he enjoyed the drama it stirred, no matter how negative. Or maybe it was just another external form of the internal trauma attributable to his life of abuse from the Dursleys. He was just another problem kid with issues and a desire for attention.

Harry closely inspected the _Daily Prophet_ for a solution to his boredom, and found one in a small, shady-looking advertisement looking for fresh, young, attractive actors. Though unnoticed at the time, "young" was the key. Harry without delay sent a message showing interest by owl. Next thing he knew, he was starring under the alias of "James Privet-Parts" in a series of illicit, underage pornographic videos.

The funny thing was no one recognized the internationally-known Harry Potter in these videos. James Privet-Parts didn't wear glasses, so he went unnoticed, Clark Kent-style. It was brilliant, and either lucky or unfortunate depending on how starved for attention Harry was feeling at the time.

Harry's prime role in these unlawful videos (such as "James Privet-Parts and the 10 ½ in. Wand" and "James Privet-Parts and the Cockring of Fire") went ignored well into the school year until a certain prominent Hogwarts professor was startled out of his self-pleasuring while viewing a rental. During a particularly vigorous butt-fucking, James's usually pristine, side-swept bangs were disheveled, revealing his infamous scar. The Charms professor in question fought against his own embarrassment to report this transgression of school policy immediately to the Hogwarts staff.

After a staff discussion, Professor McGonagall showed up in the Gryffindor common room one evening, her face lividly red from both shame and fury, to make an announcement.

"Due to the grossly irresponsible misdeeds of one of your fellow students," she declared, barely containing herself, "300 points have been taken from Gryffindor! You can all thank the young Mister Potter for that. Good night!"

She swept out of the room through the Fat Lady's entrance, leaving the Gryffindors as they burst into an explosion of outraged shouting. Oodles of youthful faces turned towards Harry, their features contorted with wrath. Harry was shocked and speechless. He wanted to be noticed, but not like this. He turned towards his best friend Ron, currently a prefect. Ron's freckled face was white and bloodless, his eyes were wide, and his mouth sagged open.

Harry couldn't take it anymore and did what he was best at, escaping, and bolted out through the common room entrance. He ran and ran as swiftly as he could, tears streaming down his blushing face, sprinting through the hallway past curious portrait residents. He pushed open the door to a boys' lavatory just far enough away from the Gyffindor tower and dashed inside. Closing the door, he leaned with his back against it and slumped towards the floor, sobbing, and his chest heaving. Oh, life was so cruel! No one understood him!

"...Potter?"

Harry looked up and saw a pale, pointed face standing above him, mouth slightly open, grey eyes vaguely widened, in a gentler imitation of Ron's horror-struck expression from before.

"What do _you_ want, Malfoy?" Harry sniffed indignantly.

"I-I heard what happened, Potter," Draco replied delicately.

Harry's voice softened. "You did? Oh... Hey, wait a second! How could you know what happened? This was in the Gryffindor common room!"

"Oh, there's been a magical spying device hidden in the room for the past few years that directly links to a viewing screen and speakers in the Slytherin dungeons. But never mind that," Draco brushed off as Harry stared blankly. "I know how you feel."

"Wait—what?"

"I, too, know what it feels like to be singled out as widely reviled and made scapegoat for the problems of a House. Alas! Due to the actions of my father and a few _tiny_ misdeeds of mine from my carefree youth, I am looked upon as Beelzebub incarnate. So yes, my dear Potter! I understand your predicament and sympathize with your situation."

Harry was stunned speechless. He couldn't believe how much Draco how changed over the summer! Never mind the mysterious modification in vocabulary, he also appeared to be no longer an enormous bastard.

"Uh... right," Harry replied stupidly. "That's pretty cool."

"Oh, Potter," Draco's face softened even more, and his visage dripped with tenderness. "How I've longed to spend such a moment with you, alone..."

He reached out a supple, pale hand towards Harry...

Harry Potter used that boys' bathroom a lot more often afterwards. In fact, after looking around carefully and making sure no one was watching, he snuck off to that bathroom at least every once two days. Simultaneously, he also began wearing his red and gold Gryffindor scarf at all times. Even when it was stiflingly warm indoors, he kept the fuzzy article of clothing on. He said it was his "talisman".


	2. Sin Leads to Life Complexities

Over the next few months in Hogwarts, opinions of Harry Potter began to ascend as fumes of anger towards him from the Gryffindor students gradually cooled. Ron was still extremely awkward and uncomfortable around Harry, but the others for the most part had warmed up to him. Even though he had lost the House 300 points due to his antics, people in general were somewhat sympathetic to his position. They recognized the pain that he had gone through all of his life, and, recalling the rumors spread by the _Daily Prophet_ the year before, they shook their heads pitifully at this boy, so used to being the center of attention, whose life had just been shattered. They understood that he was going through troubled times.

Therefore when the students noticed Harry's frequent and lengthy visits to a certain boys' restroom, they became a tad concerned, and a rumor even started that he was practicing self-mutilation in the confines of a bathroom stall. But largely they ignored this and let him be. On the other hand, no one particularly minded his sudden and frequent use of his Gryffindor scarf, as they figured it served him as a comfort item. It also made him quite handsome and, one might even go so far as to say, _sexy_.

This sudden growth of sex appeal happened to help. Ever since the underage porn scandal became public, the thought of Harry as a romantic figure sprung in the minds of many young ladies boarding at Hogwarts. In fact, certain females in Gryffindor, who had been around Harry during much of their short lives, were now starting to notice and eye the boy. And Harry noticed right back. He also believed the videos had an even more positive effect when he started doing much, _much_ better in a certain, previously difficult class involving cauldrons, whose greasy professor he was sure was a fan of James Privet-Parts's work.

Unfortunately, starring in a series of illicit porn videos had a detrimental effect on Harry's malleable moral code, which had still been in the fragile stage of development. He had learned to think that the kind of behavior depicted in these videos was considered perfectly normal and socially acceptable. "Of course the neighbors won't mind if the lady of the house is caught fooling around with the Magical Pest Extinguisher!" Thoughts like theis emerged in his young, impressionable mind, along with those much worse. Just because he was seeing Draco Malfoy in secret didn't mean he couldn't branch out and expand his resources. After all, Malfoy still called out eloquently to him, "Hey, stinky Potty-head!" in the hallway while surrounded by his usual Slytherin cronies. So it was perfectly fine if he kept up the appearance of a healthy, heterosexual boy.

Harry had discovered the life of a player.

Women were so easy to fool if you fed them sweet, honey-coated lies. Harry had learned this from the older actors, serving as big brother, mentor figures, who had worked with him while he was in "the biz". Just tell her how special she is to you, how she's the only one who's ever really understood you, and how that other girl means _nothing_, and you've got her pegged.

Unluckily, Harry screwed this up on his first try. Things were going fine at first, when he was double-playing both Hermione Granger and the young Ginny Weasley. The former finally threw herself at him during one late-night study session in the Gryffindor common room (they were alone, as Ron was still plainly uncomfortable around Harry), and the latter ensnared him once her previous passion had been rekindled, since she was now confident enough to go after the boys she was interested in.

Harry was clever enough to immediately make both of the girls promise that their relationships would be completely and utterly secret. There would be no flirting during meals, not even a foot-wrestle underneath the table (what if they kicked the wrong person?), and absolutely no pet names. This was all for the sake of Ginny/Hermione's reputation, after all, as Harry had asserted forcefully in the beginning. What would the students think if they caught one of the girls necking with a shameless porn star?! Harry also made the both of them pledge that, under no circumstances, no matter how physical the situation got, they must NEVER touch, handle, or remove the scarf. The gold and red Gryffindor scarf needed to stay wrapped securely around Harry's neck at all times, until he felt it necessary to do away with it.

Harry's first mistake was _who_ he was fooling around with. As we all know, Hermione Granger was the cleverest little witch in Hogwarts and had done quite a few mystery-solving back in the day. She kept tabs on all of Harry's odd behavior, and her suspicions began to tally up. One late Friday evening, the two of them were "studying" deep into the dark hours of night, doing what kids that age do, as Crookshanks glared at them with yellow eyes from a dark corner, when Hermione suddenly stopped. She had been crouching over Harry with her knees around his pelvic bone, as he lay on the couch, and stared at something in the area around Harry's scarf. She carefully reached towards his neck and picked out an object thin and barely noticeable from the fabric.

"Harry..." she started slowly, "What—is—THIS?" She held between her fingers a bright, shiny strand of platinum blond hair.

"Uh—uh—you see..." Harry stuttered dumbly, just as he did when he encountered the owner of that hair earlier that year.

He knew he was caught. Hermione was smart enough to figure this out. No tart in Hogwarts had bleached her hair to that cheap of a color. There was only one person in the school whose locks were that naturally flaxen.

As Harry gasped with his mouth hanging open, Hermione calculated fast and quickly grabbed the Gryffindor scarf, tugging it off. It hung off of Harry's shoulders, displaying a neat arrangement of purple and brown bruises on his barely tanned neck. Hermione's features contorted from dazzled curiosity to snaring rage.

"Harry James Potter, you—you—you..." she started, with smoke nearly about to fume from her nostrils, "you absolutely horrid TROLL! You two-timing, cheap, disgusting TROLL! How could you even SINK to that level, to," she gasped, "_HIS_ level?!"

She threw the scarf aside and got off of the couch and Harry's torso. Hermione stood over his prone body and growled, "WE—ARE—DONE," and stamped out of the common room and up the girls' dormitory stairs. Crookshanks lifted himself up from the floor in the corner, gave a smug look of contempt towards Harry, and skulked after her. Harry was left sprawled on his back over the couch, once again flabbergasted.

The next morning during breakfast, Harry spotted Hermione across and down the Gryffindor table whispering into Ginny's ear. Harry gulped and nearly choked on his oatmeal as Ginny gave a shocked and horrified expression, glancing at both him and Hermione, then slowly towards the Slytherin table. Keeping her stunned countenance, she whispered back into the ear of Hermione, whose turn it was to also look shocked, then infuriated. Both of them turned towards Harry, who quickly twisted away, but swore he could feel many small knives stabbing into his shoulder.

From behind his turned shoulder, Harry could hear the mutterings of outraged Gryffindor girls. His face reddened dramatically, but he tried to keep his cool and ignore it. He finished breakfast, stood up from the table, started to walk away towards his Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and was thinking about how the appearance and personality of the professor for that class felt so vague and mysterious, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around slightly startled to face a pink-cheeked Lavender Brown. Before he could even ask, "What do YOU want?" she sprung her hand back and slapped him hard right across the face, sending a sound reverberating through the Great Hall.

"How could you do that to them, you scumbag!" Lavender yelled as Harry clasped the side of his face, once again shocked wordless. "I hope you rot in your STD-festering Hell!" And with that, she turned on her heel and strode away, surrounded by the nods of approving and applauding students.

Harry barely found himself able to make through the day, and wouldn't have if it hadn't been for his well-needed stop once more in the boys' lavatory. There Draco embraced and cuddled the boy between his arms, as Harry lay on the spotless tiled floor.

"They'll never understand people like us, Potter," he soothed. "Don't bother trying to get them to. We're far too complex. Simpletons like them will never learn how to fully appreciate such brilliant, tortured, and tragic souls. This is why we are destined to be together, Potter."

As Malfoy tightened his embrace, Harry began to feel queasy and held back a shudder.


	3. Oh! The Twists Adolescence Brings!

Harry returned to his common room that afternoon, facing his fears, with his head held high. His meeting with Draco was eerily comforting, and he felt better prepared to face what he knew he was coming. Congregating with Draco at times made him feel ill, but simultaneously it was a comfort to be with a person who would not judge him, because they tragically were alike. So with that knowledge, Harry stepped past the Fat Lady's threshold and into the Gryffindor common room.

He was immediately greeted by a thick, staggering silence. Students twisted around in their seats in the overstuffed couches and stared without a word. Harry had felt several times before in his life what it felt like to come across a group of people and know, just _know_, that they had been talking about just before you entered the room. It is very rarely a good feeling, especially when you have a good hankering of what they had been saying.

After going up to his dormitory and rummaging around for supplies to appear as if he had a purpose for entering in the first place, Harry decided this setting was far too uncomfortable, and headed back down and spent the evening in the library instead. Most of the Gryffindors were gathered together in the common room, as the gossip at the moment was absolutely too delicious to pass up, so he was left unbothered and alone outside of it. Fortunately students from the other Houses either didn't care enough or hadn't heard.

Being a sixth-year, Harry was able to linger in the library and head back to the common room much later than in past years, which was used to his advantage. He successfully avoided all other students, along their accompanying unwanted stares, on his journey through the hallway back to Gryffindor, and all was going well and safely until he got to the dormitory stairs. There, standing and blocking the stairway, was a certain Ronald Weasley, leaning slightly against the rail with his arms crossed, looking shifty and uncomfortable as usual. Harry could tell he had been standing there for awhile, because his eyes were glazed and staring into air, as if his thoughts had been wandering for some time. Suddenly noticing the bespectacled teenager, Ron was startled into an alert posture.

"Uh—uh—hey, Harry!"

"Uh... hey, Ron." At least they were on an equal level. The two hadn't talked for a good while, and Harry felt an odd, rushing sensation at the almost unfamiliar contact.

"Uh (oh yeah), sorry, bro, but I can't let you through."

"Ugh, this isn't about that thing with Ginny and Hermione, is it? Just let me have some peace. I've already been through Hell all day."

"Nope, nope, you can't get through," Ron said proudly, shaking his head from side to side. His confidence grew steadily as his purpose became clearer to himself. "Nope, we _definitely_ need to talk about this. Definitely."

"Er, we do?"

"Dude, you FUCKED my little SISTER. My f-ing little sister! What were you _thinking_?! Or was there too much blood rushing to another part of your body that your brain forgot to function?"

"Hey man, your sister is old enough to think for herself. Don't go crazy on me because you have some older brother complex!"

"_Older brother complex_?!" Ron spitted.

"Yeah, just look at the way you treated every guy she dated last year, like Dean Thomas!"

"Dean Thomas didn't screw with her and break her heart, you ass! And—and—HERMIONE! You KNOW how I felt... I mean, how I feel about her!"

"Hey, pal... you didn't make a move, you lose. Who you have the hots for has nothing to do with me."

Harry thought that this conversation had been going pretty fine for the most part and that the both of them were keeping it cool and low-key, especially compared to their past disagreements. But there was something in what Harry had just said that made it all break loose. Ron's entire face went red as fast as an atomic bomb cloud billows. He muttered under his breath, "You little prick..." while clenching his right fist, then leaned forward and clocked Harry right in the nose, just missing where Lavender had smacked him earlier that very same day.

"Unf..." Harry staggered back, clutching his bleeding nose. "Wha' da..." He looked up and saw that Ron was beyond furious. His freckled face was turning into a maroon shade that clashed horribly with his hair, and his expression showed a passion of such depths that Harry had not seen in him before.

There was no time for words. All that fury that Harry had been filled with during his fifth year, which had caused him to yell almost every other sentence, as you may remember, was now seemingly all placed inside of Ron. The redheaded boy charged his best friend before Harry could even think, pummeling him to the ground. Harry, who was used to being attacked unexpectedly and having to defend himself quickly throughout much of his life, was able to fight back somewhat. But he had been going through such an emotional beating all day (never mind the self-harmful tendencies he'd possessed for the past few months), that he found it too difficult to fight back quite quickly enough.

The boys rolled around on the rug-covered floor of the Gryffindor common room, gradually moving away from the staircase entrance. Blood was spurting out everywhere, leaving red puddles that formed a wet path marking their trail. Most of it came from Harry's nose, which gushed as much of a red mess as it would under those little candies Fred and George invented earlier to get students out of class. But Ron had contributed his own healthy amount of blood, as Harry had clawed the boy's face as much as he could while trying to force Ron's gangly body of off his own. Ah, reader, the sight of these two vigorous, virile young men in such spirited action is one that gets my own blood pumping! Why, I remember my own school days back when men were Real Men, watching wrestling matches on Thursday afternoons... the young men in their tight, blue spandex suits... The rippling muscles, the lean flesh, the tight, packed bulges, the—uh, er...

Anyway, Harry was pretty much tuckered out at this point, and just lay on his back on the floor, letting Ron do whatever Ron felt he needed to do. The redhead stood above him, barely sustained by the energy that an explosive rage provides one. But his anger had subsided into something else, and his expression spoke of a deeper frustration and grief. He gave one last weak kick, and collapsed onto Harry's chest. The two of them gasped and panted raggedly, which was not surprising. But what did surprise Harry was that Ron suddenly burst into a loud, wet sob.

"Harry!" he wailed. "Harry! I-I-I'm sorry! I'm such a fool! I'm not in—in love with—with Hermione!"

_Okaaaay_, Harry thought.

"Harry, I'm—! I'm... I'm in love with James Privet-Parts!" he blurted.

...

_OKAAAAAY_, Harry thought again. _This is going a problem..._

A few minutes later, the two boys had wiped some of the blood clean, and Harry had a wad of tissue stuck up his nose. Ron was now trying to explain his situation.

"I—I found one of your videos in a store earlier this summer, while I was out shopping with Mum. _James Privet-Parts and the Quest for the Gilded Dildo_. The cover was so beautiful, with James—I mean—you, standing in the center, holding upright this majestic, golden dildo as if it were a mighty relic. It was so beautiful that I had to get it. I bought it while Mum wasn't looking and watched it that night after everyone had gone to bed. It was so wonderful... that was the most brilliant self-orgasm I had ever had." (Harry made an odd, "ugh" expression at that.) "I fell in love with James Privet-Parts. He was so beautiful... Maybe it was his resemblance to you that got me, but I didn't know. I didn't realize it was you! I had no idea! If I knew... I don't know."

"So," Harry began, "this is why you've been freaking out around me all this time? Because you were secretly in love with me?"

"I didn't say that! I was in love with James Privet-Parts... If I had known it was you all that time, I probably would've been sick to my stomach, to tell you the truth. But when I realized that he was you, and I knew what you could do... You can do some amazing things, Harry, especially with your tongue. Did you know that?"

"Yes, I know that. That's why everyone is in love with me, apparently."

"Well, yes, anyway, you're bloody amazing. You're _brilliant_. And—and..." He reached over and grabbed Harry's hand. "I think I'm bloody well in love with you."

Harry considered this. True, this was his best friend, and romantic relationships with your best friends were generally ill-advised. But Hermione was also one of his best friends, and that was going pretty swell until she spazzed out on him that one night. Girls are too jealous! And they're so overemotional. Just like Cho was. They're all the same. How can they possibly expect to keep a guy confined to one person? It was silly. Draco didn't spit fire when _he_ found out Harry was fooling around. Guys are alright.

Harry smiled and clasped Ron's hands around with his own. They spent a bit more time down there in the common room, alone. But that won't be described, as there was still blood everywhere, and it was pretty disgusting, and you really don't want your author to puke while writing, do you?

Above them in one of the boys' dormitories, Colin Creevy was singing to himself a classic Madonna tune in his high-pitched, whiney voice, as he swayed his skinny little tush to the beat. Colin was a HUGE Madonna fan, and we all know what THAT means. Anyway, it went along really well with the previously described scene, and it was quite beautiful.

"_Swaying room as the music starts..._

_Strangers making the most of the da-ark!_

_Two by two their bodies become OOOONE!_

_I see you through the smokey air..._

_Can't you feel the weight of my sta-are?!_

_You're so close but STILL a world A-way-ay!"_

_What I'm dying to say, is that..._

_I'm crazy for you!_

_TAW-ouch me once and you'll know it's true!_

_I never wanted anyone like this..._

_It's all brand new! You'll feel it in my kiss..._

_I'M CRAZY FOR YOOUU! Crazy FO-or you! Oh! Oh, oh, oh-oo-oh!"_

At this point, Gryffindor boys on the floor above started banging on the floor with broomstick handles, yelling, "COLIN, shut the hell up!" So they skinny teenage boy sadly stopped and laid himself back into his bed, while the two boys in the common room below continue to neck in peace.


	4. The Dramatic Climax

Harry enjoyed his new relationship with Ron. It was fun, like their old friendship, but with... _benefits_. And he didn't feel like puking like he often did with Draco, which is always a plus. With Ron, he felt less of a need to stay secretive. Everyone already knew about his "tendencies" after the scandal with Draco and the affairs broke out, and his liaison with Ron seemed a lot more wholesome in comparison. People minded this less; they were always together before anyway. The only thing was that some people shook their heads at Ron, a _prefect_, for God's sake, for fooling around with this tart in the first place. If this had been before the summer of 1996, it'd be different. But now, with the way Harry was... Ron could do so much better.

But Ron didn't care; he was in love! The two of them were practically skipping through the hallways, hand in hand. Rainbows burst into manifestation behind them; flowers and butterflies bloomed at their feet. But...

Harry was still continuing his bathroom dalliances with Draco on the side. Ron wasn't informed of them, but he was very well aware, as Harry was no longer wearing the gloriously red and gold Gryffindor scarf relentlessly anymore. He was jealous, to be sure, and he let that be known one morning.

"Harry, I don't want you seeing that cad anymore."

"What? I don't know what you're talking about..."

"Oh, come on! You show up with five new hickeys on your neck every afternoon! You're not fooling anyone. Really, I don't know how you can stand yourself being with that little prick."

"Alright, alright... But I can't cut it off. It'd break his heart. Seriously, you don't know him like I do. I know he was a little scumbag for all the past five years, I know that more than anyone. But he's really changed, he really has. You should _hear_ the way he talks sometimes, about how me and him are _so_ tragic, and how we're destined together because only _we_ can understand each other. It's creepy. But he's so into it, that I can't break it off with him. It'd break his heart. I can't find it in myself to do that."

"Well..." Ron thought for something to say. "You better find it in yourself soon! Because I don't trust that guy... Not at all."

Harry went on anyway to see Draco that lunchtime in the same boys' restroom as always. It was funny, because since half of the female population at Hogwarts hated Harry by this point, it didn't matter if he snuck quietly to the lavatory or not anymore.

Draco was waiting there as usual, but before he could do anything, Harry grabbed his wrists and stopped him.

"Malfoy... Ron wants me to stop seeing you."

"Weasley?!" he sneered. "Why should you care what _Weasley_ thinks?" That old Malfoy snobbery never left, apparently.

"Because... he's my boyfriend, and his opinion kind of matters now."

"Your _boyfriend_?!" He whipped his hands out of Harry's. "Then what the hell am _I_ to you?!"

Harry was baffled. Draco seemed to be changing personalities at a cue.

"Look, Potter. It was bad enough that you were fooling around with those twits, but those were _girls_, so it was tolerable. But this is different. I don't _share_, Potter. I take what I want and I keep it unless I get bored. And I have yet to be bored with you... So you better go back to Weasley and tell him to give it up, because," he emphasized by reaching down and grabbing Harry in a physically uncomfortable area, "you're _mine_."

After Draco relaxed his grip and let him go, Harry returned to the Great Hall feeling all kinds of _weird_. This was not a position he was used to being in. He informed Ron of what Malfoy had said, and Ron was, to say the least, just a bit angry.

"WHY, THAT LITTLE—!"

"Ron, calm down!" Harry exclaimed as he struggled to hold the redhead back. Ron was attempting to rush the young Malfoy, who was now walking in the opposite direction of them after stepping out of the restroom. "He's not worth it, Ron! Don't let him get to you!"

"Nuh-uh, Harry, it has to come down to this. MALFOY!" he called out down the hallway. Draco abruptly stopped walking and turned to look at them, looking a bit perturbed. "You and me, Malfoy! Man to man, one on one! Whadya say?!"

"... Right, Weasley. Whatever you say," Draco sneered as he steadily approached the pair. "Wand? Or fist, if you prefer to be more... _masculine_?"

"Sure, sure, let's go with wands. We can have a Wizard's Duel, Malfoy, just you and me." Ron reached for his wand hidden somewhere in his robes, but faster than you can say "Quidditch", Draco had already whipped his out.

"_Musca Carnivora_!" he yelled, and a black, fuzzy mass spewed out of his wand. As it speedily approached, Harry and Ron realized that it was actually an accumulation of many things: a rather massive swarm of houseflies.

"Houseflies?! Is that all you got? Real weak, Malfoy, real wea—AHHHH! WHAT THE BLOODY HELL?!" As the swarm of flies reached Ron, he felt tiny, painful pricks all over his body, and realized that they were _biting_ him. These were _man-eating_ houseflies, not quite the domestic kind.

"Hnfh!" Draco smirked and walked up towards Harry, then grabbed his wrists. "See this fool, Potter?" as Ron wriggled on the floor, struggling with the flies. "You can't possibly prefer this buffoon over me, can you? That would be preposterous."

Before Harry could answer, Ron gave a big shout, "ARRRGH! YOU LITTLE—!" and leaped from the ground, out of the housefly swarm, and towards Draco, pinning him to the ground. Wands were knocked out of both of their grasps and the two switched into a full-on physical fist-fight. As you may remember from the past chapter, fist-fights with Ron Weasley can last quite some time, and after a few minutes, the two boys lay on the ground, panting and bleeding. Harry had stood to the side, preferring not to get involved, but felt uneasy at this familiar scene. Uh-oh, what was that look the both of them had in their eyes as they stared at each other? _Oh no, they better not..._ Harry thought.

But they did. Ron stood up and grabbed Draco's hand to lift him up. "Hey, you're pretty good for a rich little mama's boy pansy," he said.

"And you're not so bad for a poverty-stricken, filthy commoner," Draco replied with a smile, wiping the blood and dirt from his robes.

_OH NO_, Harry thought.

"Hey, you want to get something to eat?" Ron asked, even though they had just had lunch.

"Sure, Weasley..." Draco answered. "I'd be delighted. But I'll pay, since your family has no money and all."

"Deal," said Ron, and the two of them walked off side by side, looking at each other a bit fondly.

_I. Cannot. Believe. My luck,_ Harry thought to himself, as his legs gave away underneath him and he collapsed onto his knees on the ground. _I really cannot believe this. _Now_ what?_

But before he could answer his own question, he noticed, a little farther down the hallway, Neville Longbottom glancing at him shyly. He gave a small, blushing smile when Harry caught his eye, but did not look away. _This could be good_, Harry thought. He sneakily smiled back, slowly got off of the ground, and made his way back to the Gryffindor common room. Neville followed.

When they arrived to the common room, it was alone except for Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas playing Gobstones. The two of them noticed the boys heading up the dormitory stairs, and had an inkling of what was going on. They too smiled sneakily to each other, and soon followed.

**THE END**

Author's Note: Though it takes about one and a half minutes to read each of the chapters for this fic, altogether it took me **three months** to write. Well... something like that.


End file.
